


ash/dust

by nimrodcracker



Series: and still I haul my heavy feet [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Dealing With Loss, Gen, Jedi Critical, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrodcracker/pseuds/nimrodcracker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two unlikely pairs have different conversations. Duties are questioned, faith is shaken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unravelling

**Author's Note:**

> First two chapters might be confusing if read standalone.

**3957 BBY // 3 AMW**

To: Venetia Olic/Ryder Anesidora  
From: Bastila Shan  
Sent: 0733 Galactic Standard Time, 20th of Month 3

Knight Olic,

By now, you must've heard about it all over the HoloNet. The official account is accurate, except for one fact. I'm the only Jedi survivor.

I'm sorry.

Padawan Shan.

To: Bastila Shan  
From: Venetia Olic/Ryder Anesidora  
Sent: 0436 Galactic Standard Time, 21th of Month 3

I see. Can you tell me everything?

By the way, you can cut out the 'Knight Olic' shavit. I'm no more a Jedi than you are a Master.

From: Bastila Shan  
To: Venetia Olic /Ryder Anesidora  
Sent: 0702 Galactic Standard Time, 1st of Month 4

Olic,

I think it is best if we discussed this in person. You deserve the truth, and not through a datapad screen.

In a week's time in the Galactic City, there will be a victory ceremony at the Admiralty Plaza. It will be crowded, but I think that is how you wish it to be.

Padawan Shan.

\----

The silence was like a double-edged blade; she could suppress the nagging need to _know_ , but not the part about it threatening to stretch into eternity.

A week since Bastila had last corresponded with the reluctant Jedi Knight, and nothing. Venetia Olic had said _nothing_. Was it a good sign? Or a bad one? Honestly, Bastila had no idea.

She was uneasy; her mind still reeled from the whirlwind of events of the past week, and the general buzz all around her only made it worse. The booming staccatos of the speaker on the podium, the distant whine of speeder traffic, the racuous applause of the seated crowd - each of them pricked the bubble of calm she'd shrouded herself in, prodding her closer to the edge, where falling would mean letting her emotions get the better of her - and then, she would've failed her Masters and herself, _again._

Bastila shook her head vigorously, letting a sigh escape her lips. This was not proper behaviour for a victory ceremony - on Coruscant, no less, with the brass of the military and the upper echelons of civil society in attendance. She was supposed to feel what she sensed in the crowd - burgeoning elation tempered by well-practised poise - but she could not. 

Try as she might, the sensation eluded her.

Applause filled the square, sounding just as intimidating as a herd of iriaz stampeding through grassy plains. On the raised dais, the double rows of newly-promoted fleet officers took a bow, before briskly walking off the stage.

Standing mere feet from the last row of seats, Bastila was too far away to discern their smiles from her spot, but she could read their feelings behind the smiles and she was _glad_. Glad that they felt as hollow as her, glad that they too held this event in silent contempt, fully aware of the fake sympathy and ignorance of those gathered here.

These _officials_ , who dared crow the victories of war as if they knew what it robbed from those caught in its grasp, thinking that the war was done with Revan gone, forgetting that Malak still prowled in Sith space, biding his time-

Something warm was trickling along her palm.

Bastila peered at her hands, surprised to see rivulets of red sliding down half-healed skin. Even her fingernails were tinged red too.

She started pacing along the width of the seating area, willing herself to clear her mind of the noxious thoughts that fogged up every inch of it. She had just hurt herself without realising it, and that was not a good thing.

_Remember the code, Bastila. Remember it._

_And get a grip._

Five deep breaths later, her breathing slowed to a comfortable rate, and the bombardment of external noise became nothing more than sounds in the distance. Irrelevant, and insignificant.

She would be fine, she insisted. Time healed all wounds and fears.

Belatedly, she sensed the worried gazes directed at her by wayward civilians nearby. She sent back waves of reassurance through the Force, hoping that would be enough to avert their gazes once more.

Thankfully, it was.

_But time will not cut out the Sith Lord lingering at the back your head_ , a snide voice piped up at the back of her mind. _The remnants of a Dark Lord of the Sith, a Force presence so abhorrent and vile to have touched the galaxy with its presence, is now a **part** of **you**._

_**Forever**._

At that, it felt like she was standing in a boggy mire, the quicksand she stood on pulling her deeper into its depths. To others, she was simply standing there in silence - but they knew nothing.

Bastila was _shaking_  on the inside, the paroxysm squeezing her tight and refusing to let go.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no passion, there is serenity._

It was necessary, the Council told her. The Jedi needed to discover Revan's secrets, and this Force Bond would allow them to do so.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no passion, there is serenity._

For the greater good, the Council said. But there was still a Sith Lord lurking at the back of her mind, a gateway to darkness and _sheer_  evil.

_Breathe, Bastila. Breathe. He's only in your head, not under your skin._

It was the worst of violations, having someone permanently wired to her thoughts, and she despised it. She loathed how it had been foisted upon her, how the choice of it had been denied to her, but more importantly, she hated how it was so _necessary_.

"Jedi Shan?"

Abruptly, the haze vanished. Bastila discovered that she could breathe again, both physically and through the Force.

"Lieutenant Hesko?" Bastila guessed, mind sluggishly matching the face to the name. The Lieutenant, a shuttle pilot. The pilot who dropped them off on Revan's flagship. Right?

Bastila shook the pilot's proffered hand, a Force probe confirming her guess. "I apologise. I was...preoccupied."

Only now did Bastila pick up on the rumble of footsteps in the background. Apparently the ceremony had ended some time ago, but Bastila hadn't realised it at all.

The older woman peered at Bastila's face, and her brows rose in understanding. "You too, eh?" she smiled ruefully, patting Bastila once on the shoulder. "Don't worry, the flashbacks are normal. You'll learn to ignore them eventually."

_They are not flashbacks_ , Bastila meant to say, but she could not be bothered to correct the Lieutenant. Fatigue had graciously sorted out her priorities for her.

Hesko glanced past Bastila's shoulder, before lowering her voice. "I'm sorry about your friends. They were a brave bunch, signing up for that. You too."

Their faces floated to the forefront of Bastila's mind: Dana, Milosev, Borgrak and Jaree. Four others who would have stood with her on the podium today, had Revan not cut them down. "They died for the Republic," Bastila echoed. "It was for a good cause."

"If that helps you sleep at night," Hesko scoffed. "I'm surprised you still believe that, considering how you've seen the kriffing mess of the front lines."

She pinned Bastila with a disbelieving look, before continuing in a louder voice. "Anyway, congratulations on the medal, for what it's worth. I would've taken you out for a drink, but my squadron's shipping out at twenty-one hundred tonight."

"That is unnecessary. But I do appreciate the offer."

"Well, you look like you needed a break, and I have credits to spare." Hesko grabbed the duffel bag leaning on her calf, and slung it on a shoulder. "It's the least I can do. Oh, and good luck dealing with the bureaucrats coming your way."

The pilot saluted Bastila with a wink, before melting into the approaching throng of bodies.

True to Hesko's word, the well-wishers came in trickles, but constantly enough to keep her occupied without a moment's respite. The next few moments passed in a blur; their faces molding together with the countless hands she shook with a wan smile stretched across her face. She was all politeness and civility, befitting the title of a Republic war hero, while she slowly faded away on the inside.

Sympathy, understanding, comfort - she picked up on such emotions rolling off these senators, these... _people_ who came to pay their respects. To honour the sacrifice of the Jedi and the fleet in the name of the Republic.

A welcomed gesture, if only she saw it as they did. Where these civilians saw triumph, Bastila saw defeat. They saw the death of Revan, but she saw the death of her fellow Jedi. For that, she knew the sting might never fade.

_It was for the greater good_ , she reminded herself yet again. _They were willing to put the needs of the galaxy over their own, as a Jedi should._

There was a medal on her chest, one pinned there not too long ago. Why did it feel like deadweight, then?

Feeling immensely drained, Bastila dropped herself on the nearest bench. Pinpricks of sweat had beaded on her forehead due to the evening sun, and she tiredly wiped them away.

At least, without the well-wishers to hem her in, she could piece together her fragmented thoughts.

Was the exile coming? Had she even received the last datamail message Bastila had sent her? Better yet, why was Bastila disappointed at her non-appearance?

Bastila had too many questions, but the Force was eerily silent all of a sudden - and that set her teeth on edge. Sometimes, when her connection to the Force was dampened for whatever reason, it made her feel terribly alone.

_Wait._

That was it, was it not? _The Force was eerily silent_. The Force could never be silenced completely, only suppressed, and that meant one thing.

Bastila rose and hurriedly walked away, the leathers of her robes flapping behind her in her haste. By the Force, she would never forget the static that numbed her awareness that fateful day. Even now, she still had nightmares about that nothingness.

She cast her gaze into the distance, expecting to see close-cropped hair and hypnotising brown eyes, but Bastila saw nothing of that sort in the crowd milling about in the plaza. Nothing remotely resembling the jaded spacer who had stared into the gaping maw of the dark side and returned, still in the light - albeit a little worse for wear.

Then, the Council exiled her. Though Bastila wasn't privy to the Council's reasons, that decision felt needlessly cruel.

Had Bastila imagined that presence then? The delusions of an exhausted Padawan, grasping for answers where there were none?

Despairing, Bastila almost turned back on the fringes of the Admiralty Plaza, intending to return to the inanity of baseless celebration. Back to the masquerade, made manifest as the state dinner she was obliged to attend later.

But that was when she heard it. The fuzz of static, the slimy brush of death - both of which raising goosebumps all over her skin.

Bastila spun on her heel, heart thumping a frantic rhythm in her chest. There was no denying it now; her suppositions were spot on. She was certain it was here somewhere - it _had_  to. But where?

She was too caught up looking out for it, so much so that the growing whine of a running engine failed to catch her attention. Bastila almost jumped out of her skin trying to dodge the speeder bike that jerked to a halt right beside her.

Her lightsaber was in her hands faster than she could blink, but the helmeted figure on the bike spoke before she could activate it.

"If only I still had mine," the person said wistfully, before pulling down the bulky goggles that covered their face. Familiar brown eyes locked onto hers, and Bastila let out the breath she did not know she held.

It had been a mistake to doubt the wayward Jedi.

"Climb on," Venetia jerked a gloved thumb towards the backseat. "Here's not a good place to talk."

Too stunned to question the woman, Bastila did as instructed. Before she knew it, she was being spirited away into the depths of Coruscant's urban sprawl, clinging on to Venetia for dear life while the latter whooped over the whine of engines on overdrive.


	2. Set You Straight

"Venetia, do you have a _deathwish?_ "

"Oh, you don't want to know my answer to that!"

The Exile was out of her mind. Absolutely _demented_. What sane person would be hurtling in and out of airspeeder traffic during Coruscant's evening rush hour?

"Are you planning to _crash_  this speeder bike?" Bastila shrieked above the honking of speeder horns. "Along with the _both_  of us?"

"Don't worry." Venetia was _infuriatingly_  candid. "This Lhosan beauty doesn't belong to me, so I can wreck it all I want - but it won't matter if we do crash, 'cause we'd probably be dead then, _ha_!"

 _Ugh._  Bastila was _not_ reassured by that. Of all things the Force could make her do, it just had to stick her with a  _madwoman_  who was probably going to get the both of them _killed_.

Even the lights of Coruscant's buildings were reduced to bright streaks as they whizzed along the speeder lanes, as if the feeling of vertigo was not bad enough. Bastila found that she couldn't bear to look up from the back of Venetia's leather jacket, so she pressed herself closer to the woman. Her headache had long devolved into all-out hammering in her skull, and that forestalled one thing: she was going to _hurl_ the instant this horrifying ride ended.

"Few more moments till we get there, so hang on."

Oh, she did not doubt Venetia's words, not that she could. Bastila dared not open her eyes.

Most of the journey passed Bastila by - _literally_  - as she withdrew her Force senses deeper within herself, save for the nerve-wracking turns and the stomach-turning descent that was regrettably unavoidable, Force powers or no.

Hence, when the forsaken bike finally came to a complete stop in a deserted park, Bastila never imagined that the sound of engines powering down would be bliss to her ears.

She stumbled off the bike like a spice addict, limbs flailing and feet tripping over each other in a doomed bid to walk straight. Sensing the foolishness in trying to regain some semblance of balance unaided, she used the Force to steady her awkward steps, secretly hoping that her churning stomach would be similarly affected.

It was, if the lack of retching was any indication. Still, that left her gasping for air with her hands on her knees, face inches away from a nearby shrub. Slowly but surely, Bastila willed her lightheadedness to fade, helped along by the soothing serenity of the garden.

"Bastila? I'd appreciate it if you called me Ryder Anesidora now. Venetia Olic died on Malachor."

When Bastila stood, Venetia was settling herself on the speeder bike, sans her helmet. There was a stone bench beside the bike, but Bastila ignored both. She needed to walk off her agitation.

"Not being able to use Force doesn't make you any less of a Jedi or person," Bastila stated, closing the distance between them. "The Force flows in every being, including you, Knight Olic."

"Says the person who can still feel the Force." Venetia's arms were crossed against her chest; a fitting complement to the slight tilt of her head, and the glower on her face.

 _If looks could kill_ , Bastila thought, _then this was it._

Sighing, Bastila looked up to stare at the darkening sky, wishing it could dispel her confusion. The woman was still Venetia Olic, former General and Jedi Knight. Names were just names, and they held no meaning unless one made it so. Why was Venetia unable see that?

Still, the last thing she wanted to do now was to engage in more childish bickering. That would just trigger a full-blown migraine and waste Venetia's time. Her time, too, considering the dinner she was supposed to attend later.

"Fine, _Ryder_ ," Bastila grudgingly acquiesced. "As you wish."

Ryder remained quiet at that, her glower softening into a grimace. Everything about the exile mystified her, so Bastila took that as progress.

Eager to change the subject, Bastila finally gave her surroundings a good look, taking in the crumbling ruin in silence. She could see that it used to be a palace; a place of luxury that towered over the buildings surrounding it, and even destruction could not rob the grandeur from it. Only a few spires remained standing, yet those few spires seemed to pierce the Coruscant skyline like it was meant to.

It was quite the sight, but even time failed to deaden the anguish she sensed lingering in the cracks of the rubble. "I know this place, yet I cannot recall what it is. This is..."

"The Draay Estate, or what's left of it. Heard the stories about it from Alek, and they're better left unsaid." Ryder reluctantly tore her gaze from the rubble, only to pick at the lint on her gloves. "Reason why this place is rather quiet, and precisely _why_  I chose this place. Just...not in the mood for happy Jedi reunions back at the plaza."

Something on her wristchrono caught her attention, and Ryder straightened. "As much as I'd like to stay and talk, I'm rushing for time. So, who killed her? Revan, or Malak?"

Ryder's ironic curtness was lost on Bastila, as the memories started to creep in. "Revan did," Bastila said, fidgeting on her feet. The chill of the night pricked at her skin like gnats, and she almost wished that she had worn a scarf, like Ryder. "I will-I'll spare you the details."

It had been weeks since that bloody encounter, but the nightmares about it had not abated in the slightest.

" _No_. I came here for the truth, and I'll get it. Don't coddle me, Bastila."

Seeing no way out of this, Bastila took a deep breath, willing the sonic screwdriver drilling away in her head to redouble its efforts. At least then, she would be too karked out to relive the stuff of her nightmares again.

"He choked her with the Force. The way her neck snapped...I-I won't forget it anytime soon."

There it was, playing out in her mind's eye again with the stunning clarity of a holovid, in which she was a captive audience.

The sound of footsteps snapped her out of it; opening her eyes revealed Ryder pacing the length of the bike, her gait stiff and lips flattened to a hairsbreadth.

But where was the anger? Bastila only felt high-pitched static from Ryder's Force presence - _as if the woman herself did not exist_. Perplexed, her gaze was drawn instead to Ryder's trembling hands that were balled into fists, and suddenly it dawned on her.

_Ryder is dead to the Force. Have you forgotten that?_

The thought left an unpleasant taste in Bastila's mouth. To her, being severed from the Force was a fate no different than death.

Bastila shivered slightly, telling herself that it was only due to the nighttime chill.

Ryder stopped her frenzied pacing just as the wind died down, raking a hand through her brown curls to smoothen the tousled mess. She sat on the speeder bike again, but this time, she hung her head low - low enough for a necklace to slip out of the scarf wrapped around her neck.

The words Ryder uttered next were barely audible, forcing Bastila to lean in to hear them. 

"Dana almost choked on a piece of nerf steak before."

With a blank face, Ryder spoke softly, but even volume failed to mask the raggedness in her voice; all hewn and chipped like splinters. Hearing Ryder speak like this-no, seeing a hardened veteran so utterly _shattered_  made Bastila look away. It sounded as if Ryder had lost her entire world, and that was a painful sight for Bastila to take in.

Maybe this was why heroes were not supposed to fall.

"The lump was small, but it was big enough to block her airway. Happened when she was still a youngling on Dantooine - five, when she was five, when I was fifteen. She didn't know how to use the Force then, so she couldn't nudge it out of her airway. Had I not arrived early for breakfast that day, she'd...she'd-" Ryder's breath caught, and Bastila looked up in worry.

Ryder was fumbling for words, her brows scrunched in concentration, but no words came. Defeated, she rubbed her palms in the hollows of her eyes, before dropping her hands on her lap with a huff. "I've never seen her lay a finger on roast nerf ever since."

Ryder began to fiddle with the necklace; a jagged tooth tied to thin, brown cord dangling off her neck. Bastila was familiar with it, having seen Ryder wear the trinket at the Enclave back when Bastila was still a youngling.

Maybe that necklace was to Ryder how her father was to her: the remnants of a lost childhood.

 _Something_  in Bastila compelled her to reach out for the Exile's shoulder, or to hold the woman's calloused hand in hers for a tight squeeze, but her hand stilled mid-raise. Shaking her head, she hastily - _awkwardly_ \- tucked her hand behind her back.

For the life of her, she failed to comprehend why the woman's opinion of her meant so much to her. Ryder probably blamed her for Dana's death, and she was not even her Master. Why then, was craving the Exile's approval so badly?

Bastila pinched her arm. The headache was probably getting to her.

"I can't begin to imagine the terror she felt before she died," Ryder mumbled, gaze still glued to the ground. "She didn't deserve to die that way."

Bastila could only look on. "She did not."

Ryder tapped her booted feet, drumming out some unknown melody with unwavering certainty. There was a new air about the woman that Bastila sensed, an air of acceptance that felt _wrong_ , somehow. How could she make peace with such thoughts so easily when Bastila herself wanted to scream out the tension churning within her?

"Bastila," Ryder's face swam into view, the woman finally meeting Bastila's gaze. Was she motioning her to sit? Or to come closer? "I need to make this clear. I don't blame you for...for whatever that happened to Dana. Neither should you. Blame the Sith, blame Revan - smarmy, thrice-damned Sithspawn he was-" Ryder threw out her arms "-heck, blame _anything_  but yourself. You gave your all, and you did the best you could considering the situation."

"Besides," Ryder added wryly, "I doubt Dana would want to see you like this. Keep your chin up, Bastila. Not many can claim the same."

Bastila did not miss the approval in the woman's words. Ryder was _praising_  her. _Acknowledging_  her worth. This was how Masters were supposed to be, right? Nurturing, and encouraging?

 _Instead of being condescending, harsh and stuck-up?_ , a traitorous part of her whispered, _treating you like a means to an end and expecting you to be nothing but the-_

A hand patted her arm, and Bastila looked up to see a slight smile tug away at Ryder's lips. Wearily, Bastila returned the smile, before turning away.

She knew what she had to meditate on tonight.

"So, you spaced the slimeball, right? Chucked him into dark space where he belonged?"

"I did not." This was _not_ going to end well. "He yet lives."

Ryder visibly stilled. Even the good humour was wiped off her face.

Abruptly, Ryder got to her feet, and Bastila backtracked a few steps.

"Where is he?" Ryder demanded, voice dropping a whole octave.

 _The Jedi Temple_ , Bastila wanted to say,  _right here on Coruscant_ , if only to get Ryder a comfortable distance away from her - but no. She would not forsake her promise to the High Council.

Bastila stood a little straighter. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you that."

" _Bastila_."

"And you'll what-" Bastila shot back, impulse driving her words"-kill him? Vengeance is not the Jedi way."

_By the Force, Bastila. You just let your emotions get the better of you again._

Ryder took a step back, incredulity in her face. "Me, a Jedi? You must be _joking_. In case you've forgotten, the _Council_ threw me out!"

"There is no emotion, there is peace. Isn't there merit in the word of the Code regardless?"

"Oh, for fu-" Ryder whirled on her with a snarl, jabbing an accusing finger in her face. "Don't you _dare_  throw the Code in my face, _Padawan_."

Closing her eyes, Bastila clenched and unclenched her fists - repeatedly. Simmering fury had her digging her fingernails painfully into her palm, ripping apart the wounds of before.

_Hold it in, Bastila. Rein in your anger. Anger leads to hate, hate leads to th-_

Three beeps sounded, slicing through the tension like a vibroknife.

Something clicked, and Bastila opened her eyes to see Ryder hold a fist close to her mouth.

"Ryder, you'd better be on your way to the ship because it's half an hour till zero hour and I don't see you in the cockpit with me for preflight checks. Your duffel bag on your seat can't do that for you, sorry."

Bastila channeled the Force to her bleeding palms, willing the skin to knit back together because she dared not do anything else. The air between them was charged, and one wrong move could change _everything._

Ryder chewed her lip before answering. "Got that, Vox. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Please do. Maxxus will throw a fit if you don't."

The connection closed with another click. Ryder tucked the comlink into a belt pouch before wordlessly turning to face Bastila. There was no trace of the anger of before, just an age-old weariness in that downcast expression.

"So help me Bastila, if I ever cross paths with him." The fight had been sucked out of the Exile, and Bastila was glad for it - for the both of them.

The look Ryder aimed at Bastila was frightening in its intensity, enough to make her shrink into herself - until Ryder turned away, preoccupied with gearing up for the ride to wherever she needed to be.

The heavy lump of an apology was lodged deep in Bastila's throat. No matter how hard she forced, it refused to budge. All she could do was to watch Ryder rev up the engines of the bike and _look at her_?

"Look," Ryder began, reluctant to meet Bastila's gaze. "We've obviously had a rough week. Nor are we taking it well. I know you're sorry. So am I." She worried her bottom lip again. "You need a ride back? Doesn't matter if it's more than five klicks away. This time I'll promise not to speed."

If this was the Exile's way of apologising, Bastila knew it to be better than nothing. "Thank you, but no."

"That bad, eh?" Ryder laughed, flicking off a stray leaf on the speedometer. The laugh lacked its usual energy. "I tend to have that effect on people. See you soon, then."

The Exile nudged the speeder bike off the floor on its repulsorlifts, before speeding away without a second glance.

This time, Bastila finally sat herself down on the nearest stone bench, bathing in the glow of a streetlamp hanging above her. The crickets were out in full force, their calls a fitting melody for Bastila's thoughts.

_Trust in the judgement of the Masters, Bastila. You know they know best._

Staring into space, Bastila repeated that twice for good measure.


	3. Come Crashing

Nightfall found the Academy quiet, lights dimmed to the bare minimum. Most of its denizens were asleep due to the late hour, but a quick peek into a certain room would reveal something to the contrary.

In the Room of a Thousand Fountains, time was inconsequential; in the endless trickling, the vast shades of emerald, and the Force that flowed infinite within these walls.

A nook was all they occupied, the two of them, nursing cups of steaming liquid in their hands. Illuminated by a solitary lamp on a post, their surroundings were coloured in darkness, but vision was not the only way they perceived the world.

"How have the years treated you?" she spoke, the surrounding silence necessitating no louder than a murmur. 

"The same as they always have, Lonna. Galaxy's been keeping me busy. What's next for you? I know I'm leaving this planet."

"Kaah and I are returning to Taris. So far, no one has assessed the damage from that unbelievable affair." He still wore those fanged earrings of his, but she was still unsure of their origins. "Force knows how destructive these splinter factions are to the Order."

"Zayne Carrick," he hummed, rolling the syllables off his tongue. "Fortunately, we uncovered the truth. Still, how many more have we wrongfully condemned, seeing the corruption of the Dark Side instead of the truth?"

To deny would be akin to lying, but to affirm would be to presume. Sipping her caffa, she decided on the next best option: to remain silent.

Somehow, she just _knew_  his reaction had something to do with the events of today.

Perhaps it was the familiarity of friendship that had negated the need for conversation between them. Perhaps it was the wisdom of age, knowing how thoughts had to be developed first before being spoken.

Whatever it was, she saw no need to interrupt him, not when she sensed his thoughts darkening by the minute.

When the plasteel cup slammed against the bench's surface, she wasn't surprised in the least. Her fellow Master - former compatriot, rather - was prone to such forcefulness.

He released a drawn-out sigh. "It was a mistake."

 _Ah._ Once again, she had been proven right. "I knew you saw them talking."

"How could I not? They were loud. Arguing."

"Not everyone walks through the rubble of forgotten places for answers, Zez."

He looked away, uncertain. "She looked so lost. Bearing a burden too wide for her shoulders."

Regret. It lingered in the air between them like a foul wind, like the stench of the dead. "What's done is done," she grimaced. "Even if we stood firm, they won't listen. Two of us against the rest of them? Vrook? Even better, _Atris_?"

Her caffa wasn't giving out faint wisps of steam anymore. It had turned tepid far too quickly for her liking.

He was contemplating again, his only movement being the gradual rise and fall on his chest. But he _was_  listening. Intently.

"No," she settled for a dismissive shake of her head. "Slaying a krayt dragon would be much easier."

"I know." Resigned, he stood with his empty cup. "I just hope that we've not condemned her."

He cut a forlorn figure as he left, shoulders drooping and head dipped low, before the darkness swallowed him whole.

She was mulling over his words, spoken ever so gently, but swaddled in obscurity, as expected of the man.

It didn't take long for her to discover the ambiguity in his speech, but by then, he was long gone, and her mind clouded by doubt.

Had he been referring to the Exile, or young Padawan Shan?

**Author's Note:**

> The KOTOR comic series? 10/10 would recommend


End file.
